Do snowmen get Christmas sex?

Eggnog booty jams:
I dig a good holiday party more than most—my co-workers over the years can attest to this (but they’ll keep their mouths shut, right?). Anyway, Monday, December 21, Shady Lady Saloon will give the night over to Shaun “The Self-proclaimed King of Christmas” Slaughter for Snowfall, a night of brandy eggnog, hot buttered rum, hot toddies, Merry Cherries, spiked cocoa and other artisan cocktails, paired with hors d’oeuvres and ass shakers by the Xmas emperor himself. Here’s the kicker: no cover—but festive or cocktail attire is recommended (8 p.m., free, 1409 R Street). (Nick Miller)

Birthday sex = overrated?:
A few weeks back, the owner of Azukar Lounge told me “the guy who sings ‘Birthday Sex’” was passing through his swank club. I had no idea what that this whole “Birthday Sex” thing was all about—the song, playa!—so I Googled it at work. This got my anti-virus all hot and bothered; I was underwhelmed.

Anyway, turns out the crooner in question is Jeremih, R&B artist and Billboard climber, and “Birthday Sex,” which has a ridiculous 110 million or so plays on his MySpace, peaked at No. 4 on said charts this year.

The song doesn’t live up to the hype.

It’s a monotonous, slow-tempo grinder with a nonsensical North African backbeat, Jeremih singing, “Don’t need candles or cake / just need your body to make / birthday sex” during the chorus—which is the only vaguely memorable lyric.

Birthday sex: What a letdown. Maybe it’s better live? (Jeremih on Thursday, December 17, 9 p.m.; $18; at Azukar Lounge, 1616 J Street.) (N.M.)

OG snowman:
Here’s an all-star gathering: Greg Attonito, Anton Barbeau, Kepi Ghoulie, Kevin Seconds, Allyson Seconds and Shanti Wintergate all onstage covering T-Rex’s “Rabbit Fighter” and “Hot Love” during an encore, part of their “How the West Was Fun!” tour stop at Luigi’s Fun Garden last Sunday.

Wintergate busted out a few ukulele solos—and intimated OG styling with a balloon-doll gangster snowman she’d affixed to the mic stand, joking, “Because I’m a motherfucking snowman,” between songs. Kepi busted out a cowbell, in timely fashion, before ending the night with “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You,” which prompted Allyson to save Brian Hanover from perennial wallflower doom for a quick do-si-do.

And, from Kevin’s lively folk set to Attonito and Wintergate’s pop folk, what a fun night it was. The sound guy said nobody keeps a gig moving like Kepi, and I couldn’t agree more: a perfect stocking stuffer of a show. (N.M.)

We are all the same raindrop?:
Just when it seemed like all everyone wanted to do last week was sit at home and bitch about the weather, Ellie Fortune drew everyone out of their caves and into Luigi’s Fun Garden for a Friday evening of sincere music. And just like magic, the storm became this beautiful, mystical thing—much like the ghostly songs of Jesse Phillips, the man behind Ellie Fortune. All was right in the world, as Phillips closed the show following great sets by Cozy Cullers, Sea of Bees (an impromptu session) and Teddy Briggs of Chief Briggum’s promising new project, Appetite.

Phillips was greeted by a smiling crowd as he lulled and cooed through folksy songs like “The Echo,” a pulsing, fingerpicking crescendo—perfectly placed cymbal swooshes by Briggs on drums and deep tones by Thommy Minnick on cello—launching into a fleeting, drum-thumping ride. It was as if we were all gathered ’round the campfire in the woods, listening to a great friend’s honest tales of heartache and splendor. Phillips tried to explain, saying that there is no separation between the people onstage and those in the audience. Sheltered from the rain, we were all on the same wavelength. (Melanie B. Glover)